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Foster the beautiful, and every hour thou tallest new flowers to birth.
Friedrich Schiller
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Friedrich Schiller
Age: 45 †
Born: 1759
Born: November 10
Died: 1805
Died: May 9
Historian
Journalist
Librarian
Novelist
Philosopher
Physician Writer
Playwright
Poet
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Marbach/Neckar
Schillerean
Johann Christian Friedrich von Schiller
Johann C. F. Schiller
Johann Christoph Friedrich Schiller
Schiller
Fridrikh Shiller
Fridrikh Shiler
F. Shiller
Frideriko Schiller
Joh. Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
Frederick Schiller
Hsi-le
Friedrich von Schiller
Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
Flower
Birth
Hours
Beautiful
Tallest
Every
Foster
Flowers
Thou
Hour
More quotes by Friedrich Schiller
Virtue, though clothed in a beggar's garb, commands respect.
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Cowards have done good and kind actions, but a coward never pardoned.
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Great souls endure in silence.
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The painter is, as to the execution of his work, a mechanic but as to his conception and spirit and design he is hardly below even the poet.
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I have enjoyed the happiness of the world I have loved.
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We must bear what Heaven sends.
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Fate always wins, for our own heart within us Imperiously furthers its designs.
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Posterity weaves no garlands for imitators.
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When you are not happy with your life, always think that someone is happy simply because you exist
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The future comes slowly, the present flies and the past stands still forever.
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The brave person thinks of himself last of all.
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To the fool-king belongs the world.
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What reason, like the careful ant, draws laboriously together, the wind of accident sometimes collects in a moment.
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No doubt the artist is the child of his time but woe to him if he is also its disciple, or even its favorite.
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Joy, thou spark from Heav'n immortal, Daughter of Elysium! Drunk with fire, toward Heaven advancing Goddess, to thy shrine we come. Thy sweet magic brings together What stern Custom spreads afar All men become brothers Where thy happy wing-beats are.
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He cannot complain of a hard sentence, who is made master of his own fate.
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Like a dart the present glances, Silent stands the past sublime.
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Rigor pushed too far is sure to miss its aim, however good, as the bow snaps that is bent too stiffly.
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Forgiveness is the finding again of a lost possession.
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Modest humility is beauty's crown.
Friedrich Schiller